Note: Alas I have no camera at the moment so all pictures you see are courtesy of Kate Quillin, and the second half of my trip bears no pictures to show.
China. I had never intended to visit China while I was here. I didn’t know, in fact, whether I would ever go to China. So when two volunteers planned a trip to China for after their close-of-service, I hesitated to join them. However after a bit of pushing on their end, I bought a ticket and decided to tag along fairly last-minute and quite unprepared.
Our first hostel was located within the old “hutongs” streets characteristic of Old Beijing, with an air of history and charm. We arrived in China after midnight, but getting to the hostel was another story. Wandering the hutongs at 2am in search of our well-hidden hostel didn’t seem like the best idea, especially with plenty of bags and in the surprisingly cold night, but it was alas our only option. An adventure to kick off the trip was indeed what we needed, and after a brief search we woke up our hostel management and dragged our tired bodies into bed.
For the first few days we toured the hot spots of Beijing: Forbidden City, Tian’men Square, Temple of the Heaven, the Great Wall. While each of these historical sites was intriguing in its own way, it was the actually the smaller-scale encounters that really stand out in my memory. We met a pair of student artists who offered to show us around a bit (after of course we had already taken a good look at their gallery). Despite warnings of such artists and the artwork that was sure to be over priced and possibly fake, the two students were more than hospitable and genuinely interested in getting to know Americans. They took us to a Chinese tea ceremony, a formal way of preparing and serving tea for formal occasions, where we tasted a variety of freshly brewed teas. After, they showed us to the first of many silk markets I would go to, and were kind enough to help us get to our final destination, the Opera. Chinese Opera, euphony of high-pitched song led by native strings and drums with traditional dance, masked costume, and lots of great old-fashioned drama about war, love, and thievery. My favorite: The Drunken Concubine.
Oh, and we bought some great hats.
The other volunteers left to go home to the US after just over 3 days in Beijing, but because my Peace Corps service is most certainly not over yet I decided to stay a few extra days alone before heading back to the Philippines. Now you must understand something. Travel in China is no picnic. Without having learned Mandarin, it is quite difficult to communicate in China. Signs are in Chinese. Menus are in Chinese. Train station notices are all Chinese. And imagine, everyone speaks…. Chinese. Having come from a country where most citizens know at least a basic degree of English and where I can communicate well in the local language anyway, it was a hoot for me to have to feel my way around using sign language and a big ol’ smile. Both got me quite far, actually. My first day alone I wandered around the back lakes near the Forbidden City, ate some really good kung pao chicken, and boarded an overnight train for Xi’an. I was thoroughly warned about the sleeper trains in China, and how terribly uncomfortable they are. And while it was certainly interesting to play sign language with the 5 locals sleeping in my area and a terribly tight squeeze into the middle bunk of the three-tier bunk beds, once my head hit the pillow and the thick quilt tucked under my chin, this girl was out.
I think I forgot to mention, it is currently quite cold in China. I have been living in a tropical climate for over 2 years, and I was not prepared to see my breath when I got to China. The sandals I had been wearing became clearly unacceptable after a few days, so I was left with the cotton flats I had brought from the Philippines (which I was later told were the equivalent of “peasant shoes” and explain the large number of strange looks I received from passer-by glancing at my footwear).
Onward. My goal once I arrived in Xi’an was to see the terracotta warriors, and that is about where my planning ended. I was superbly lucky to meet another American once I arrived at my hostel in Xi’an who, having the bubbly friendly spirit of a traveler, invited me to tag along with her tour group. From there, things just fell into place. We wandered the 3 pits of the terracotta warriors, an archaeological wonder whose terracotta figures are still in the process of being uncovered from under thousands of years of dirt. While the warriors were a spectacular tour, it was perhaps more interesting to reflect on the fact that I was present during a point in history when this world wonder is being discovered. Left me with a bit of a surreal feeling, a reminder of how small I am in the scope of history. The tombs were only discovered 40 years ago, when a farmer digging a well fell upon the site by accident (imagine that!) and will not be fully excavated for up to 60 more years.
After a full day of touring in my cold peasant shoes, I was in need of a full body Chinese massage. With a few new friends, I relaxed (maybe not the best word for it though…) through nearly two hours of intense prodding and pushing that left my legs bruised but my mind at ease. A tour of the Muslim quarters with my travelling companions was the final order of business, and in our search for a good noodle soup restaurant we found instead a bevy of shops selling nuts, dried fruits, and local candies. The noodle place we discovered at nearly midnight was about as Chinese as one can get—dimly lit and dingy, with a giant bowl of noodles, tofu skin, seaweed, bamboo parts, eggs, hot chilies, and some vegetables I couldn’t name but tasted very much Chinese. I can’t say I loved the taste…
The following day was more laid back. My new American friend (who would turn out to be a Unicorn of a discovery) and I rode bicycles around the Xi’an city wall, an old relic of Chinese culture that pulled me out of the present day and into China past. With the cold air, the cobblestone road, and a view of the city from atop the high walls, it was a peaceful ride and a jolly good time. The rest of the afternoon, we relaxed with warm cups of tea and good company.
I took an overnight train again that night back to Beijing. I was not lucky enough to reserve a sleeper car, so I spent over 12 hours confined to a seat. Two rows of seats faced one another, and passengers were chatty all through the night. Cigarettes are not banned from trains, so the car was smoky, the people loud, and the environment entirely non conducive for sleeping. It was a hellish night to say the least. Sleep deprived and dirty, I arrived in Beijing once again. I had plans to meet my new friend—a young artist living in Beijing on an art residency—in the afternoon, so I wandered to an old Drum Tower where I witnessed a brief sample of the elaborate drum performance used to tell time in ancient days.
In the afternoon of my last day, I saw a more local view of the city from the eyes of my new and most hospitable friend and her middle-aged art-world companions. We ate an elaborate Beijing duck lunch, one of the best meals I have had in some time, and I listened to stories of travel and art and the journey from starving artist to “high life.” The people were simply inspiring, having travelled the road I hope to pursue myself, and hearing their tales gave me a renewed energy to continue international work.
I left China feeling thoroughly exhausted but mentally revitalized. From the modern and extremely easy to use subways to the historical hutongs and old city walls, the tea ceremonies to the Forbidden City, Beijing duck to candied hawthorn fruit, departing Peace Corps friends to a myriad of travelers, this trip will remain in my mind as one of the most memorable vacations I have taken, an all-in-all darn good time.
No comments:
Post a Comment